Encounters
by Isolith
Summary: A little sequence of conversations and encounters Andy Flynn has with the new head of FID regarding conduct, complaints and whatnots. Pre-canon.


**Title: Encounters**

**Summary:** A little sequence of conversations and encounters Andy Flynn has with the new head of FID regarding conduct, complaints and whatnots. Pre-canon.

**A/N:** Just a little exploration of background history between Andy Flynn and a newly instated FID Captain Raydor. I'm sure they've had encounters before Red Tape, seeing how perfect Flynn is at putting his foot in his mouth.

**-/I/-**

It always brought a snip of tension to push down the button for the fifth floor and take the elevator to the offices of internal affairs, standing inside the moving box and trying to rile yourself up for what would no doubt be a test of patience. It always brought forth that kick-to-the-stomach feeling that fluttered not unlike nervousness and yet it carried with it a taint of self-preservation.

Having been to this particular floor on more accounts than he considered healthy, Andy Flynn was – if anything – more than a bit aggravated to be summoned here again. Only this time it would be different from all the previous visits, of that he was sure. It was a given when the old hound had retired and a new head of FID had been appointed. It was cause for a celebration, if anyone asked him.

Why, he practically wore a grin as he sauntered through the corridors to the office of the head of FID, knowing the old idiot was nowhere within the vicinity of the LAPD building. It was uplifting – almost instant relief to know he would never have to be in the same room as the little cretin, ever again.

No one would be able to be as much of an asshole as Captain Blevins had been. The guy had been breathing down Andy's neck for years, foul breath and horrible little sticky eyes – always insinuating one thing or another, so full of himself. The rat squad was an outcast group within the force, and Andy hated Blevins's guts with vehemence.

No one could be worse than Blevins, Andy was sure – even more so since he knew the position had been filled by a woman. It was a wonderful notion, why if he had any luck she would be a mousy little thing who would melt the moment he smiled at her. He might even throw in a little wink if she turned out to be good-looking.

He walked down the corridor, keeping his smile to himself as he passed officers. There was no reason to share a smile with them – they would only find it deceiving and wonder what he was hiding. It just came down to the notion of the whole institution; he cared very little for internal affairs officers and they cared little for him. Having had his own share of run-ins with the division and its obnoxious detectives, his attitude had only soured over the years.

Andy rounded a corner, tried not to smirk as Sergeant Wilkens passed him by in a flurry – the kid was easy to manipulate to the point where it was a bother; why you could lead him around by the nose and direct him towards whatever you wished. It was as much a blessing as it was a bit tedious in the long run.

Approaching the office of his destination, he wondered what this conversation would contain. The last time it had been a session of lounging rudely in a chair while Blevins had yelled and huffed, veins standing out on his forehead, his little mouth gleeful whenever it got the sanction to tell someone off.

The conversation today would be either dull or a little exercise in flirting. Andy hoped for the latter, he would able to charm the skirt off the lady within a second and there would be no further trouble then.

The door into the head office was ajar; he slipped inside not bothering to knock, letting his fingers quickly slide through his hair, ruffling it a bit, plastering on one of his reserved for special circumstances smiles.

He had received a neatly, well-written email from this lady – Captain Reeder-something, he quickly amended – demanding his presence in her office. The mail had reminded him of the many letters his lawyer had used to send him on divorce proceedings and children's custody hearings, the same peculiar way of inserting fancy vocabulary into ordinary sentences; he loathed it.

The room was curiously as if Blevins had just left it; clustered in a riff-raff of piles of papers, books and folders, the wood of an old bookcase dark and emanating a certain flavor of old oak, the large, heavy teak desk that seemed to be a pre-existing part of the décor, mid center in the room. Andy wagered the lady had yet to make the room her own; he was certain no one would want the same interior as Blevins.

The woman – Captain he tried to imprint into his thoughts – was on the floor, her back to the door. She was looking through a large box of old tattered books, a cup of coffee by her feet. Squatting in bare feet, the pale skin of her legs noticeable – he quickly observed black heels discarded on the other side of the room in a little heap. She was wearing a black pencil skirt, shorter than he had imagined but longer than what would have been inappropriate. A black blazer was thrown across the back of one of the two chairs before the desk and she was left in a red t-shirt, dark reddish hair tumbling around her shoulders in slight curls.

She was the opposite of what he had anticipated; and he had yet to even interact with her.

Andy tilted his head, appreciating the view, the snuck way that skirt curved around her, emphasizing her waist and backside.

Before he could cough and make his presence known, she spoke – her back to him and still engrossed in an old book.

"Are you unfamiliar with the concept of knocking, detective?"

"Yeah, I was raised by wolves."

She peered over her shoulder, long dark hair framing her face. He noticed her eyes, a vivid color even behind her glasses.

"Lt. Flynn, I presume."

"You'll presume correctly, Ma'am."

Her lips twitched, "So, you make a habit out of barging into the offices of your superiors?"

"Nah, the barging is exclusively for your benefit, Capt'n"

Her eyebrow quirked, coming closer to her hair-line, then, "If you had bothered reading my mail to the end, you would have known it explicitly told you to report here first thing come Monday morning."

"Early Monday morning, yeah, I can read."

"Your presence here, now, would suggest otherwise."

He shrugged unapologetically and tried to garner some goodwill with a smile.

It did nothing, her face was as unexpressive as marble, unreadable really. It unnerved him somehow; the old hound had been readable like a children's book, always colorful in his many emotional outburst. This dark-haired chick seemed to be composed like ice.

It was something he could always count on with the opposite gender; his wide smile. It failed him now, however.

She sighed, a little puff of air that did not display any emotion.

"Well, sit down Lt. Flynn," she pointed to one of the chairs in front of her desk, "seeing you're so adamant about being reprimanded on a Friday afternoon."

"Better get it over with, huh."

"Just for future reference, was it the eight o-clock sharp that threw you off? You prefer to sleep in on Mondays?"

"I thought you would be in a better mood on a Friday than a Monday; obviously I was mistaken," he countered, feeling a need to defend himself. He had never been reprimanded for being early before, it unnerved him further. Why if Blevins had still been in charge Andy would have arrived late on purpose; he was trying to show good faith by showing up early now.

Her eyebrow arched high; "I'm always in a good mood," her voice had a tint of laughter in it now – it confused him further; anyone else would have him told off for such a comment. She was an unusual one.

"Now," she rifled through a little mountain of paperwork, found the correct folder and joined him in the other chair, next to him. Another little thing to confuse, he would have wagered she would sit behind the desk like the old hound used to – mighty and high in his superior power.

She sat next to him, the folder open on her thighs and at the same level of eye contact.

Up close he decided her eyes were green – and why, that dark hair was decidedly more red than he had first thought.

"Yesterday, a Mr. Augustus Jr. filed a complaint against you, Lt. I've read your extensive, and somewhat interesting personal file and I thought a tentative meeting would be in order. I would like to hear your side of the story. I know Captain Blevins had a tendency to – shall we say – be more colorful in his incident statements than most of us."

"You mean Blevins was prone to being downright judgmental and narrow-minded in his reports,"

"I did not say that. I thought it would be more conducive to meet with you personally and infer myself what kind of an officer you are – instead of relying on this," she patted a big folder on the desk, "which sees you in a rather weak light, I must confess."

He shrugged, "The guy was full of himself; saw it as his mission to annoy me."

"That might be – but new times ahead. Let's keep our focus on the present," she gave a small smile, the first time her lips curved marginally – but he could not detect anything from it but a weak warmth, "Now, what happened yesterday?"

"The suspect, Mr Augustus if you will, put up a fight when we came to his house to make an arrest."

"Yees," she flexed her hand indicating that he continue.

"The guy was on some serious stuff, pupils blown, edgy and twitchy. Lt. Derryn read him his right and the dirtbag went haywire on us, pulling out a gun. I took to weapons as well. He shot at us, I shot at him. The genius then decided to make a run for it, and I pursued him on foot. I tackled him to the ground – and that's where he got the broken nose from."

"I see," she said. Andy was confused, what exactly did she see?

"You're in AA, attending regular meetings, I can see," she paused, looking through papers on her lap, then "How long have you been sober now?"

He sputtered, eyes narrowing as he took her in.

"Two years," he crossed his arms. Not even a little flicker of unease as she asked him, still that goddamn awful unreadable look.

"Captain Blevins mentioned that he found you equipped with a particular short fuse? Issues with anger management and so forth?"

He wanted to tell her 'bullshit' but there was something about her that frightened him a bit, so he settled for silent, repressed anger instead. It only meant he relied on sarcasm instead.

"Yeah, I counted to ten before I tackled the little scumbag to the ground."

"It was not a veiled criticism, Lt. Flynn; I merely want to know how you're doing with your anger? Is it easier to control now than, say, when you weren't sober?"

Nosy, little tight-ass. Pretentious, ice-in-her-veins bitch.

"Hey, my anger and me are doing just dandy fine."

"So that's a yes-I-have-much-more-control-now, Lt?"

He shrugged, watching as she scribbled something down on the file before she turned to another page.

"These are valid points Mr. Augustus lawyer will bring up when I meet with him; and I will be able to tell him there is no merit to any of his accusations, that you acted well within your right."

He huffed.

"How do you know I'm telling you the truth; the creep did deserve a good whack in the face!"

She pursed her lips, "I have already had a talk with Lt. Derryn and he corroborates your story."

Andy laughed scornfully, "Derryn will tell you whatever you want to know! Little kiss-ass that he is."

"Are you determined to be contrary?"

"I'm a hothead, it's what we do," he countered.

She rolled her eyes, "Why yes, according to Captain Blevins the whole LAPD would be better off without you on the force, at all."

"That conniving little – " he started but she interrupted him, a small smile now at the corner of her lips, "Easy there Lt., no reason to blow a coronary."

He tried to glare at her but it seemed to slide off her without any impact at all.

"Lt," she started, her voice calm, "this case is a minor incident – it's not even a question of whether you will be cleared or not. So, really – that's why it could wait for Monday."

"Okay, well fine. So that'll be it?"

She nodded.

He stood, then with a sudden feeling of mischief and a wide slightly askew smile he asked her, tone nonchalant, "So, you married?"

"Wha – I beg your pardon?" She managed to be composed even when she was surprised, her head tilted slightly back as she looked up at him.

He leaned against the desk, enjoying watching her from above, the t-shirt snuck around her upper chest.

"I haven't seen you around before – you new to the city?"

"What does that have to do with my marital status, Lt?"

"I could give you a guided tour around the general area."

"But only if I'm single – is that it?"

"Hey – I'm game either way, doesn't matter."

"You are kidding me, right?"

He shrugged.

"Are you fishing for insubordination today? You get a kick out of it?"

He smirked, "I just wanna know whether that icy façade was all the way through."

She crossed her legs, and he watched the skirt ride up.

"I'm married, and I grew up here – so if anything I should be showing you around, given that accent of yours," her tone was low and sweet now, only it seemed more like a danger sign to him.

"My bad," he gave a smile and went for the door.

In the doorway, he turned and gave a wide smile over his shoulder, "Love your uniform, by the way," and left before she could reply.

However much he tried to douse it, he could not contain the smile from his face and as such he strode through internal affairs with what would most likely be a ridiculous grin. Life would be interesting everytime he collided with FID now, of that he was certain.

Even if she was a bitch.

**/**

Andy Flynn charged through the door into the head office of FID with more force than necessary, the loud sound when the door hit the wall making the woman inside the room jump in her seat. He was angry to the core and felt a need to vent before it completely consumed him.

The office was familiar to him; he had after all paid it many a visits in the past years. Where the room had been almost dark and dank back in Blevins time, it was light and airy now – classy, he would say; what with the fancy portraits on the walls, the light wooden furniture and a large window that was never curtained seeing there were no blinds. Blevins had liked working with heavy dark blinds closed and a fluorescent light, Captain Raydor liked the sunlight.

The Captain regarded him from her desk, a wide surprised look that quickly was replaced with a glare.

"Lt. Flynn," she reproached, "do try to keep the door on its hinges."

It was 'Lt. Flynn' in a reproachful tone when he managed to annoy her beyond normal measures; he always took it as a good sign. He liked riling her up. She was wearing a delicate white blouse today, almost a bit transparency, some kind of fancy thin fabric he was sure. It was a thing he noticed about the opposite gender; a particular interest in their clothing. With her it was always a surprise – she was sophisticated in her clothing, stylish and mostly he found it to be a bit exciting, trying to anticipate what little outfit she would be in.

It was one of the reasons that he always ended up leering at her in some fashion; he never tried to disguise his obvious interest. It would strike a nerve even if she didn't show it, so with that in his mind he always let his eyes linger longer on her than was appropriate.

"You need a goddamn new door anyway," he grumbled, crossing his arms and staring hard at her.

"What has you in a huff now?" she asked, a small undertone of disparaged resignation in it. It was meant to convey that she thought he was always in a prickly mood and took everything personal; this he knew seeing she had told him exactly this an inordinate number of times.

"You're investigating me?" he breathed heavily – he had taken the stairs in his hurry, having no patience to wait for the elevator, "Again!"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"Grrrr -," he closed the door with a more resounding bang than when he had pushed it open, "You've got to be kidding me."

"I kid you not," she told him, her tone calm now as she turned a page in the folder she was engrossed in, her eyes not on him anymore but on her reading material, purposefully ignoring him.

"Look Capt'n, you can at least tell me which creep is suing my ass! Don't I have a right to know?"

"I'm obligated to investigate this complaint – hypothetical complaint, mind you – without your express knowledge seeing it's hypothetically an open case and pending possible trial. I'm not obligated to tell you a thing - hypothetically."

She twirled a pen in her hand and then highlighted something on the file she was reading.

He dumped down in the chair opposite her with an exaggerated sigh. The chair never seemed to agree with him; he had come to know it intimately over the last couple of years. It was not uncomfortable per se but it was one of those that made sure you sat ramrod straight in it. It was hard to slouch in it or lounge in it; he was forced to sit upright like an obedient little chastised child. He was certain she had chosen it with that exact purpose, she was devious like that.

"Listen, all I'm saying is that obviously I'm aware of this whole charade, so you might as well tell me a little more. What's the harm? I already know about the complaint!"

"You mean you cannot deduct which _creep_ could be the possible culprit?"

He glared at the top of her head, the red hair beckoning forth further aggravation today. Sometimes just the knowledge of her existence and he found himself vexed.

Sometimes Andy missed Blevins; he had never been sarcastic and bicthy. The old hound had never been calm and composed. Blevins had never ignored him in this fashion; it was an aggravating thing indeed.

"You mean to tell me out of all the possible people you have managed to piss off lately, you cannot narrow it down to a likely candidate?" she continued, a small note of humor in her voice now. He could detect it clearly; it made her voice vibrate in a different fashion, one he was becoming accustomed to recognizing. Not that he cared much for it.

Bitch, he thought.

"This city is filled to the brim with nasty little creeps – it's not my fault they're graced with a spineless, sensitive disposition as well as a violent tendency to kill people. It's not my fault they take offense at the slightest little puff of air."

She looked up, her eyes narrowed – she loathed it when he talked in his usually brusque, crass language. A fact that he reveled in and naturally it pushed him to be ever more crass when he was in her presence; whatever got her knickers in a twist was a godsend.

"How did this hypothetical complaint come to your attention, anyhow?"

He shrugged; he was not about to blab.

"It's an open investigation – you know I cannot discuss it with you."

He looked to the ceiling as he rolled his eyes.

"Who told you?"`

"No one."

"You better spit out a name, Lt. before I decide to have you hauled off – "

He interrupted her, "What, you threatening me with a seminar on anger management," he shook his head and let his smile turn derisive, "seeing as it turned out to help so much the last time – or the time before that."

"Oh, I've given up on that avenue a long time ago," she was unruffled by his tone or his smile, "I was thinking something a bit more recreational – how about a communication skills course. It would get you in touch with your inner interpretative self."

"You wanna send me to one of those hippie-roundtables with nothing but talking about talking, geez."

This time she sighed; "Wilkens told you, right?"

"Hypothetically speaking, he would be the most likely subject, now wouldn't he?"

She rolled her eyes, then looked down again and resumed her reading, highlighting another sentence.

Sometimes he wondered how she could remain so calm, so unfazed by whatever he threw at her.

The chair became an aggravating thing to sit in, he stood up – stretched, and then proceeded to round the desk and try to peer over her shoulder – it looked to be some boring deposition about something or other.

Her palms flattened across the document, obscuring his view, "Lt. Flynn, please."

"Sure, sure," he lamented, throwing his hands in the air and coming back to the opposite of the desk, then with a gloomy look at the chair he sat down again.

This time her eyes were on him; he congratulated himself on the obvious ire in them. The narrowed eyes taking him in, her lips about to be pursed in repressed annoyance.

"Your bastard of a husband still absent?"

"What – how?" she looked confused now, and on the verge of anger.

He smiled wide, "I have my sources."

"That little brat," she grounded out in an unusual display of emotion. It just told him the office gossip was true – not that he would tell her Wilkens was not the root of this information, the kid was in for a long haul of scolding. It amused him to a certain degree.

"People tend to gossip. You can't blame all those little birds who happen to sing left and right."

"Oh great, you're resorting to your extensive repertoire of fanciful expressions."

He grinned, "Better than your fancy-smancy lawyer talk."

"My husband is not absent – I know precisely where he is."

"Really?"

"None of your business, Lt."

"Scuttlebutt has it that you threw him out," he needled her.

She glared but kept her mouth shut in a firm line.

"Scuttlebutt also has it that he's knee-deep in shit."

"You know what?"

"No?"

"I am not going to disclose a thing to you about this hypothetically complaint – so why don't you pitter off down to the trenches and do whatever it is you do. Before you are _knee-deep in shit._"

He glared back, "Whatever it is I do? – you mean actual police work!"

"Yes, Lt. I'm just shuffling papers here and doing absolutely nothing of value."

"You said it."

"Go… shoo."

He grinned insolently and kept his position in the chair, enjoying the little upturn to her lips, enjoying the little implication of cleavage when she crossed her arms even more.

"Go intimidate someone would you?"

"I'd rather intimidate you, Capt'n."

She gave a brief laugh, "Not likely to happen."

"You wound me," he pretended to be hurt.

"Why, you're all bark and no bite, Lt." she smiled wide but it was only a show of teeth and not a token of anything friendly, "you better run along, down to your little friends. I'm sure you'll get a call out any minute now – you know how busy Friday night is what with _creeps_ and _dirtbags_."

Standing, he took time in adjusting his suit jacket, showing the badge at his hip, then in a gruff voice, "I can bite alright, don't you worry your little head about that."

She smiled wide, and then made a shooing motion with her hand.

Before the door closed behind him, he heard her mumble of "Good boy."

He whistled loudly as he strode away from her office, glaring down a passing I.A detective till the guy averted his eyes.

He grinned, then soured – he was still nowhere with this whole business of being goddamn sued. He cursed. She was still a bitch, however much he liked annoying her.

**/**

Andy Flynn barely knocked before turning the doorknob and sending the door flying into the room, pushing inside and greeting the object of his irritation with an accusatory glare and a low growl of, "A word, Capt'n."

Captain Raydor turned around in a little spin, hair flying, a folder to her chest and a surprised look that turned to instant aggravation the moment she recognized him.

The conference room was occupied by one surprised looking, well-suited business man. A well-manicured man whose lips curled slightly with disdain and whose dark eyes flickered between Andy and the Captain, irritated but inquisitive. Andy did not care one bit if the man felt put off by the intrusion; this interruption could not wait for a more opportune time – he needed to set things straight with goddamn FID. Somehow the rat squad always managed to bring forth his ire, this time was no exception.

The Captain pursed her lips, her head askew as she seemed to take him in and assess him. That distinct glint in her eyes and he definitely knew she was assessing him; it was a look she seemed to direct his way on many occasions – a little look to determine whether he was explosive and ready to blow up or whether he was merely a bit distressed. She seemed to be able to differentiate between the two, how she did this eluded him.

This time he was more incensed than he had imagined but it was underlined by a peculiar feeling he had yet to analyze. It was a strange situation but he had gotten comfortable with this particularly red-haired chick – it was familiar to see her whenever there was a complaint against him or an officer involved shooting. He was familiar with her work ethic and how she viewed the justice system, familiar with how he could behave with her and what buttons to push and when to wave a white flag and let it go. Andy was at ease with her however much he grumbled about her or yelled at her; she was deep down fair and reasonable – to a certain degree. Still a bitch though.

Naturally it struck him extra hard to find out someone else was handling his OIS this time.

With a sigh she put down the folder on the table.

"Lt. outside," she told him as she pointed, then turned back to the man, "Excuse me, Christopher – this will just take a minute."

Stomping outside he turned and watched her close the door gently before she regarded him with obvious frustration.

"Yes?" she enquired voice low.

"You!" he spluttered, suddenly feeling unable to handle his anger all at once. Stepping closer he prodded a finger into her shoulder and growled with more vehemence, "You!"

Her eyes narrowed in on the finger on her shoulder, her lips coming together in a little derisive sneer.

He removed his finger but kept his position close to her; she did not frighten him.

"Yes, you said that already, Lt Flynn – you're huffing and puffing but I'm not hearing any coherent sentences; now speak up – what is bothering you? Something grievous I'd imagine," she ended in a little sarcastic, mock-smile.

The frustration was gone and she seemed her normal, composed self, eyes enquiring as she regarded him. She did not even move backwards a step; unfazed by his close proximity. Whenever he got extraordinarily upset or worked up she seemed to slide to the other end of that spectrum. The more angry he got, the more calm she became. It annoyed him.

"I'll tell you what is wrong. You've turned my OIS case over to Davis! He's practically incompetent!"

She sighed, "It's called delegating, Lt – what, do you think I sit in my office for your benefit solely?"

"You're throwing me to wolves, is what this is," he accused, "This is gonna end badly."

"Davis is under my command and I assure you he's well up to the challenge of looking into your OIS."

"Davis is a sniveling little bastard – "

"Why, the two of you are perfect fit then."

"He's going to get me suspended – intentionally."

"If you get suspended it's not going to be Davis's fault."

"Of course it is – you have never gotten me suspended."

Her eyes narrowed, "A stroke of luck, mostly – what with your excellent track record and tendency to _step in it_."

He stepped even closer, knew she disliked it when he towered over her; knew she disliked it when he invaded her personal space.

"You all a flock of vultures, despicable the lot of you."

The corner of her lips quirked upwards shortly, a belligerent little smile, "You're a blundering, foolhardy idiot – and yet you do not see me barging through doors and getting myself worked up in a pique."

He sneered at her but she merely gave him a smirk.

"What are you doing then that's so important? Huh? You on vacation?" he ignored her insult – he was used to it. A funny thing, it was not a direct insult – at least not in the same way that Blevins used to call him this and that. No, she told him off with a little smile – and usually he got away with insulting her as well. A mutual agreement they had apparently decided upon without talking about it.

"Believe it or not Lt. but you are hardly the only police officer who manages to fuck up in this department," a hand came to rest on her hip, "You are not even the worst case."

"Really – so you're saying I'm one of the good guys," he grinned then, arched an eyebrow.

"Yes Lt," she placated him, but then struck, "Wonders may cease but you are by far one of the more easy ones to handle."

"You calling me easy?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You think you can handle me?"

She rolled her eyes, "Oh don't you worry about that. I can handle you just fine – you're not that much of a delinquent."

"It still doesn't change the fact that Davis will get me suspended; the kid's a tragedy, you know."

"I can vouch for him. Really you're creating a problem where there is no problem."

"My specialty," he told her with another smile.

"Lt., there's no reason to be insecure about you OIS, at all," she said with a sudden bright tone, "Don't you worry, Davis will be up to the par – I've supervised him on his many other cases and I'm certain he will do exactly the same as I on this one."

He crossed his arms, "You would feel insecure as well if a little snotfaced, ass-kissing brat was investigating you. I'm not even sure the kid's giving me the benefit of doubt."

She crossed her arms as well, "Maybe if you refrained from the name-calling, there would be no need to worry, at all. A different attitude and you might find Sergeant Davis a delight to work with."

"Delight, my ass. None of you people are delightful. This has nothing to do with an attitude adjustment, I'm merely finishing what that brat started – you know he outright called me rude, bad-tempered and without any social competences whatsoever."

"You mean to tell me that's all it takes to get you worked up nowadays? You've gotten extra sensitive in your old age, is that it?"

He faked laughed, and then in his own defense, "I don't care for him. Yesterday I caught him mumbling to himself under his breath – and you've gotta admit he looks like a disgruntled bulldog! He's got this mean, pinched look about him."

"Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"Yeah – I'm getting more and more distinguished by the day."

She gave a snort, "So, your greying hair is the reason you're throwing tantrums left and right?"

He pursed his lips.

Her eyebrow twitched, "Now, was this really so important that you had to barge into my meeting and disrupt everything?"

He sighed, "The kid is annoying the hell outta me, Capt'n."

"I know, I know – now, count to ten Lt. Just breathe and I'm sure everything will solve itself.

"Fine, fine," he grumbled, "But tell the sergeant if he messes this up, I'll have his badge."

"I'll do no such thing."

He growled.

"Just tell him to drop the attitude, or I'm going to get really worked up."

She smiled, not a pleasant smile but one that displayed thinly disguised impatience. "My office three-o-clock," she ordered him, "We'll talk some more."

She turned and walked back into the conference room.

Andy sighed; this was all Sergeant Davis fault – the kid had been in his face from the moment he had showed up in Homicide/Robbery and told Andy in a judgmental tone that he would be responsible for the OIS investigation.

Ordinarily it was the Captain who made sure he stayed clear of hot waters, he had no confidence in this kid.

He sighed.

**/**

Sometimes the FID bitch ventured out from her lair; it was an expression used among Vice and the Gang Unit and usually it meant FID was on the warpath, a cautionary warning. Sometimes a detective would come into a squadroom, out of breath and a half whispered, "She's here." No specification, everyone knew who _she_ referred to. Usually she appeared in a swift stride, the staccato of heels the telltale of who was about to appear. The moment she came into view and a room could suddenly become silent; an acknowledging feat to accomplish in itself. Silence and narrowed eyes, hard glares and a snip of resentment in among a buried little fear of what she was about to do. She did have more power than the rest of them, to a certain degree.

There was no need for a warning this time though; Andy Flynn and his partner, Lt. Kerr, stood outside an interview room on the third floor and was impatiently waiting for the Captain. The medical examiner had just left, and their suspect now subdued, sat handcuffed on a wooden bench, a sullen expression to his face. Sporting a pinched expression himself, Andy was trying to gear himself up for a confrontation. It was bound to happen – it was vivid in the expression on Lt. Kerr's face, tight-lipped and shoulders up to his ears as he looked down the corridor, expecting the Captain to come around the corner any moment now.

The characteristic click-click of her heels announced her arrival before she became a visible figure; dark red hair more vivid than the last time he had seen her, briefcase under her arm and an assured, self-important stride.

She came to a stop with a small sway, hand on her hip, "Gentlemen, fancy meeting you here."

Kerr pouted and Andy gave her a rude, wide smile in return, taking in her outfit. A black, form-fitted pantsuit – straight and curvy. He noticed the small necklace, a gold penchant. He wondered if she was ever under-dressed. She was always immaculate; and he had had the misfortune of meeting her at the oddest hours of the day. It did not matter; she was always dressed to the nines whether it be 4 am or 5 pm. It was hard to look as spick-and-span as her when he had been struggling with apprehending suspects all day; days like that had a tendency to see him running around after people all day and tackling them to the ground. It was no wonder then that he had spots of grime on his clothes, a disheveled look altogether with his sleeves rolled up and his shirt collar undone.

"Let me guess," she started, looking down at the suspect sitting on the bench – unusually quiet for the moment, "Mr. Argyle here," she pointed to the subdued guy, "ran into a door?"

How she had been able to finagle information about their suspect's name already was a mystery. She always seemed to know what she needed to, always a little superior knowledge in the who's and what's that was happening around the building.

"More or less," he answered – Kerr had closed his mouth and had crossed his arms. His partner was not about to say a single thing but for a little glare. Andy did not mind though, he could do the confrontation himself.

"Interesting," she drew the word out in that distinct way that annoyed him, "and you happened to be the one that drove him into said wall?" she eyed him first and then regarded Kerr, "Or would that be you, Lt. Kerr?"

"Mr. Argyle here resisted arrest and punched me right in the face," Andy pointed unnecessarily at his swollen eye; he was sure it was vividly visible to anyone. It was a painful throbbing reality for him.

"Hey man, I ain't done no such thing," the dirtbag quipped.

"Quiet," she told their suspect who shut up and glared at her instead, a more pronounced pout on his face now.

Andy grinned, even if it hurt. You only spoke when the Captain asked you a question; it was a fact that most figured out shortly after making her acquaintance. She was composed either way, whether she be talking to a large, hulk of a suspect or a sneering officer who had nothing but resentment for her.

Her eyes went back to him, a little sigh the only indication to a reaction, "This is the fifth time this month you happen to be the subject in an excessive force complaint, Lt. Flynn."

He shrugged unapologetically, "I like seeing your happy face, Capt'n, what can I say."

She rolled her eyes.

"It's like a damn smoke signal, you come running everytime. I'm just checking the system, why, it works." he continued.

Kerr snickered.

The Captain merely arched an eyebrow, unfazed, "Why, Lt. Flynn it's all because of your pleasant company and complacent attitude. I do so enjoy your cheerful disposition."

"Yeah, I'm delightful alright."

"You sure are – now what's the excuse this time?"

"We are dealing with thieving, homicidal dirtbags – they tend to put up a fight," he elaborated, even though they had had this exact same conversation too many times to count by now.

"Incidentally you tend to be in the middle of all these little scruffs."

He shrugged again, "Bad luck."

"Curious, you must have the worst case of bad luck this department has seen since its establishment."

He smiled, Kerr looked at her sourly.

"Hey lady, this guy totally went off the roof, I ain't done nothing to him," the suspect suddenly cried, obviously under the delusion that the Captain would help him.

"Shhh," she shushed him, continuing to look at Andy instead.

"Lt. Kerr would you take Mr. Argyle here into the interview room, I'll be there shortly."

"Yes, Ma'am," Kerr grounded out and took the little idiot into the interview room.

Andy eyed her, he was waiting for some kind of strike – surely she had more up her sleeve than this.

"You've got a medical examiner to look at your suspect? That split lip and what looked like quite some bruises on his shoulders."

"Yeah – what, do you think I'm completely new at this?"

"You do tend to behave like a rookie, Lt. I never know what to expect, now do I?" she smiled back in the same sarcastic manner.

"Nothing wrong with Mr. Argyle but a little bruising. Doctor said he would up and about in no time, nothing broken. He'll be his own colorful spitfire self in county, no worries."

"Wonderful."

"Indeed. Why, he will probably be out in no time and the next time I apprehend him, I'll remember to tackle him into something soft."

She ignored his gripe; "Did you get your own eye looked at?"

"Nah, it's fine. I can see your wonderful face just fine."

Her eyes narrowed, lips curled, "Are you always this contrary when someone's gotten the better of you?"

"Yeah – you got it."

With a hand on his sleeve she pulled him a little away from the window into the interview room, that little touch and he was obliged to look her directly in the eye – a mixture of concern and annoyance greeting him.

"You have got to have it looked at so it can be documented. Lt. you know this."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Will you be fine by yourself? Or do you want me to accompany you?" her voice was low and full of sarcasm, even if her eyes were soft.

He spread out his arms, palms flat, "I can walk by myself."

She grinned, her eyes crinkled, "Then you better get your butt in gear," she looked at her wrist, "Dr. Janson will be out of here by four – you have ten minutes."

"Yeah, yeah – I'm going," he replied, taking a step away from her, "Tell that dirtbag he's got another thing coming if he ever pull a stunt like this again."

"You're still angry?"

"Damn right!"

"Just take a deep breath and go have that eye looked at," she patted his arm, "please?"

"Anything you say, Capt'n," he replied with a saucy smile.

She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," she imitated him, and then went into the interrogation room, standing across from the suspect, ignoring Lt. Kerr completely.

Andy went in search of the doctor.

**/**

They were the only ones on the elevator, resolutely avoiding eye contact, pretending they were alone. It was a long way up when the elevator had stopped in between floors and maintenance was tinkering with something or other – the little intercom buzzing every now and then with static.

"You sent me to the wrong hospital, deliberately," her voice was low, dangerously close to that vibration that told him she was trying her hardest not to give him a verbal reprimand.

Andy Flynn snarled, "You invaded our crime scene, deliberately."

"You mean my crime scene."

"It would be but for the murder obviously happening right in the middle of it; I believe murder belongs to major crimes."

"FID investigations take precedence over murder enquiries."

"Murder triumphs OIS's."

"It really doesn't."

"Sure."

"Fine."

They both went silent again, glaring at their own respective spot of elevator wall.

Damn, she was frustrating. Her existence annoyed him more this time than previous, he thought. Crossing his arms, he sneaked a look at her. Narrowed eyes and slightly pursed lips – crossed arms as well.

Bitch.

"Good luck with Chief Pope, I'm sure he will agree that a little OIS supersedes murder," he needled her, voice a low growl.

"I have a mandate - ," she started but he interrupted her with a "Whatever."

Her eyes came to rest on him, narrowed and annoyed. He glared back.

Then another little silence.

"Why are you so worked up? This is a standard OIS, why I have done hundreds of them with you. Why does the fact that Sergeant Gabriel is the subject send you into a fit? "

He continued to glare, crossing his arms.

"Why are you so bossy today? Unreasonable; you've never been unreasonable before!"

"Lt. I'm always unreasonable – why, you tell me every time you see me!"

He tilted his head, and then watched as her features became further clouded by barely restrained anger.

"It's not your crime scene – it's mine. Even if there's a murder investigation to conduct."

"You just like being on top," he couldn't keep the suggestive tone out of his voice.

She narrowed her eyes, not missing anything.

"Crossing lines again, Lt."

"I'm always crossing lines – why, you never seem to have a problem with it."

They glared at each other for another moment before they averted their gaze.

Finally, after an insurmountable period of silence the intercom buzzed with a calm voice and the elevator was brought into motion again. Thankfully; he was not sure he would have survived another second of being trapped with her in the elevator.

Suffice it to say, they both breathed a sigh of relief at the motion. Avoiding eye contact – it was better to pretend the other was not present – they exited the little stifling box the moment the doors slid apart – hurriedly moving in different directions.

Andy grumbled; but god damn it her presence needled him today.

**-/I/-**

**Finito. =)**


End file.
